“You thought we might do yoga?”

“I thought maybe we’d do something … athletic? So far, you seem to be into things that are … new to me. So I just came prepared.”

“You could have just asked me.”

“You could have just told me.” She’s smiling, like nothing I say can make her regret her packing decision. “And I actually don’t have your number.”

I hold my hand out and she hands me her phone. I type in my ten digits and a few words, and then hand the phone back to her. Mine buzzes, and I pull it out of my pocket. I type a reply and put it back just as Olivia pulls hers out. A smile spreads across her face as she reads what I wrote:

Olivia:

Excited for tonight. Can’t wait!

Aiden:

You should be, it’s going to be awesome.

I hope you brought something you don’t mind getting paint on. Or burning?

Her eyes go wide. “Burning?”

I really should have told her what to bring. Get your head in the game, Emerson. “Scratch that. Let’s focus on the paint.”

She’s looking at me like she thinks there’s a chance I’m taking her somewhere to burn her clothes in some sort of strange ritual, but she’s not running yet. Probably because she’s wearing sandals, and her running shoes are in the bag. “I can make something work,” she says.

“Excellent.” I toss my car keys at her and she catches them clumsily. “You can hold on to these from now on.”

“Your parents won’t think it’s weird I have your car?”

I hadn’t even thought about it. My grandpa bought it for me when I turned sixteen, and until recently, my parents never really policed it. It is mine, and my responsibility. If I trash it, no one is buying me a new one. “They won’t even notice. It just sits in the garage.” Even as I say it, I’m only ninety percent sure it’s true. It’s in its own stall, but that doesn’t mean Dad’s never going to go in there to get out something random like the lawn chairs that hang on the west wall, or one of our old beach coolers.

“Well, my aunt—and my mom—would ask me a million questions.”

“Gotcha. No keys.”

Olivia smiles, and shakes the offending pieces of metal. “Are we ready?” She glances at the open trunk, and I slam it shut as I walk to the passenger seat.

“Let’s do this.”

“Whatever this is,” she says with a smile.

OLIVIA